


Open Season

by avidita



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Consent Issues, Dark Harry Potter, Fix-It, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, Non-Graphic Violence, Power Imbalance, Racism, Transphobia, and until we get there: a dash of very problematic Harry/Regulus, but I guarantee a happy ending, for plot reasons, general canon bigotry, like: a LOT of angst, more tags will be added while this develops but in general my stories tend to contain, no seriously - let's fix ALL the things, temporarily:, there is some endgame Harry/Draco but we're a long way from that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidita/pseuds/avidita
Summary: Regulus Black wakes up in the Inferi cave, still very much on track to bring down the darkest wizard of all times. It's just not clear if it's still the one he was trying to take down when he was last conscious. But there is something rotten at the core of this New Normal, and if anybody has no hesitation to do whatever it takes to dig out the roots of this, it's Regulus. Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts. At least this time, he's getting laid as well.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Teddy Lupin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Alone in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> This has been brewing for a long time, but it's finally at a state where I feel comfortable posting this. While this is and will be a WIP for a while yet, I have the plot planned out in detail to make sure we find our way to a Happy End.  
> We'll just have to wade through a lot of darkness, pain, and filthy, filthy smut to get there.
> 
> Please always read the notes! While this is a WIP, I'll add new tags while we're going, and I'll also warn for cliffhangers so that you know when to maybe wait until the next TWO chapters are out.  
> This has not been beta-read, and English is not my primary language, so I appreciate any comments you might have - you see a typo? Paste it into a comment and done! You find a plot hole? For the love of Graves POINT ME TO IT and I'll fix it. You have more to say? Yes pleeeaaase! :)
> 
> Welcome, I am glad you're joining me! This will be quite a trip! Let's gpooo!

Regulus finally found something solid to grasp onto and started to heave himself out of the water, up onto the slippery stones in this eternal, absolute darkness.

He tried to take a deep breath, but instead he coughed up sour water, wheezing and vomiting painfully for long moments. When he could breathe again at last, he tried to pull himself completely out of the water. He could hear the waves he’d made disappear in the cold darkness surrounding him. Slowly, his muscles started to shiver violently. His nose was clogged with an unbelievable sweet and foul stench.

There was no light at all, and the only sounds were the water dropping off him, and his own breathing. But then, a low, long scratching sound.  
He froze. His eyes searched for something to latch onto, while he tried to keep completely still. His thoughts were running in wild, useless circles. Was he dead? Blind? What was the last thing he remembered?

That one sound came again, stone scratching against stone, and Regulus held his breath.  
Then, light.  
Just a glimmer, but getting stronger, a long, high spear of flickering Lumos, growing brighter and wider as the stone hiding the entrance of the cave gave way.

Regulus found himself well hidden on one side of that entrance. He crouched a bit lower behind one of the larger boulders and waited with wide open eyes and bated breath.

Human voices.

“Nah, should be safe now. Just corpses, ya know?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t believe that for a second. Just because He waves his wand around in some cosy ministry office in London don’t mean we’re not going to be eaten any second now.”

“Inferi don’t eat humans. Just drown ‘em.”

“Or bite and infect them. Great. I always wanted to end up a zombie.”

“What’s a zombie?”

“A muggle fiction thing. Forget it.”

Regulus didn’t really listen. He just waited for the moment when both wizards were far enough inside the cave, away from the entrance. While they called for the skiff, both still arguing, he crept out as silently as he could, with shaking limbs and teeth that insisted on chattering.

The outer cave was drenched in pale grey daylight, and Regulus had to stop for a moment and stare at all that light. He wasn’t dead. Nor blind. The last thing he remembered…his train or thought splintered and fizzled out.

He closed his eyes and pulled himself together. What had they said? “He” had waved a wand in London?  
For a moment stark terror gripped Regulus’ heart.  
Then he clambered out of the cave until he was at the cliff’s edge and could go no further. He had lost his wand, and he was beyond exhaustion. But he needed to get away.

Regulus Arcturus Black didn’t have a great many talents. He was rubbish at charms, barely passable at potions and only here and there talented in the Dark Arts. But he possessed what his father had called a great coward’s talent: Wandless apparition.

He closed his eyes again, tried to keep his teeth from chattering and his mind from cluttering up again, turned swiftly on one foot and jumped.

There was a curious pull and a hard push, and instead of inside of his own room he stood outside of some muggle village, near a copse and some meagrely interested cows.

He couldn’t stand anymore, tried to catch himself on his right arm, and groaned when he succeeded. He still ended up falling on his rear end, but now he had to cradle his arm to himself, hissing through the glaring pain. For a second he stared at the Black family ring on his finger.

He whispered a curse, his voice no more than a paper scrap in the wind. Then his dark gaze landed on the small village. Quite obviously muggle, well-kept farmer’s houses, thin streaks of smoke coming from the chimneys.  
Regulus tried to gauge the level of magic he could still do, being this exhausted. It wasn’t enough for anything.

He couldn’t wait for the night. It seemed to be early in the day, but he was wet, cold, and unbelievably hungry. 

He tried to approach from the least busy angle, let himself into some muggles’ back garden and tried to see if they were at home. No smoke from the chimney, no open windows, no light behind the living room windows. He walked to the patio door and stopped, his heart suddenly beating wildly.

He still wore his Death Eater robe, which was a fine, expensive piece of clothing. Really heavy, soaking wet.  
The way the dark glass mirrored his picture had probably cost him years of his life.

Regulus took a deep, annoyed breath and tried the patio door. It was locked, of course, and Regulus was out of patience. He went to both sides of the small terrace to check out the neighbour’s houses. Nobody seemed to be at home there, either. So he took a supposedly decorative piece of terracotta and threw it into the glass door.  
He had to kick in the shards clinging to the frame until he could safely enter, annoyed at muggle ingenuity regarding building materials.

Then he went to the kitchen to get the biggest knife these muggles had. They really weren’t at home, which was quite fortunate for them. Regulus checked the upstairs rooms anyway, took out some muggle clothes, presumably from the master of the house, and drew himself a bath.

The muggles had non-magic bathing salts. Regulus had taken off most of his clothes already, when he sniffed one. It was too sweet, cloyingly so, and he just managed to get the lid off the toilet before he was retching his guts out again. He couldn’t stop the pathetic whimper that escaped him when he failed to bring anything up.  
He tried to drink some tap water, to make more vomiting even possible.

First he tried to take the water in hand to get it to his mouth, but the moment it touched his skin, he was frantically drying his still filthy hand on the pristine little towel next to the basin. He steadied himself with both hands on the rim of the basin, gulping for air. Then he took the toothbrushes out of the small glass and used that to drink. There was a slight, minty aftertaste, but that was quite fine with him. Then his shaking legs gave out and he managed to land on his knees in front of the toilet, to get the water out again.

It took six glasses until he managed to keep some sips down.

The bathtub was filled by then, the water not smelling of anything. Regulus pulled himself up to reach for the tap and stop the water. Then he stared at the warm, slightly steaming water. Merlin, he felt so filthy. But he couldn’t even think of getting in there. He tried to imagine taking a shower instead, but that didn’t seem to make any difference.

He spent a long time just breathing through the moment. Then he took the small towel, put it into the water and started washing himself that way.

He had to gag a few times, but it worked. He couldn’t use the men's shower gel, it was too musky. The woman’s was too sweet, but there was a third one, claiming to smell of citrus and mint, which was tolerable.

After what felt like hours, Regulus finally admitted that he probably was as clean as he would get. He didn’t feel any less filthy, although he had washed his long, black hair four times already, using the shower head with great reluctance.

He towelled himself off, took his soiled, wet coat downstairs to hang it over the stairway railing, and searched the kitchen for the lightest food he could find. Broth and biscuits seemed okay.  
He was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the half empty bowl of broth, debating with himself, when the first muggle came home.

He took the long knife in hand and walked to the kitchen door, silent as a shadow. A young girl called out:

“Mom? Dad? Anybody home?” She seemed puzzled, probably looking at the robe that hung on the railing. Regulus could hear her throwing off her shoes and backpack. Then she opened the kitchen door without any hesitance. Regulus had her neck in hand in the next second, making sure she saw the knife, without bringing it too close to her.

“Don’t scream”, he rasped. 

She had taken a panicked breath, and while Regulus was already walking her to the kitchen table, all she let out was a small animal sound.

“I don’t really need you”, Regulus explained calmly. “So if you make any trouble, you die.” His hand shook her neck once. “Understood?”

She nodded frantically and sat on the chair he pushed her on. He had found the silvery, strong tape in the kitchen drawer, and now he used it to bind her wrists together behind her and her ankles to the chair. She started to cry, trying to be silent, and failing miserably.

She was pretty, he supposed. Not quite a child anymore, which was a blessing. Still in some kind of school uniform, which showed far too much leg in Regulus’ opinion, and she had her brown hair in a boring ponytail.

“When are your parents due home?”

She didn’t answer immediately, so Regulus gave her a small slap to the back of the head. “Don’t try to trick me. Remember: Don’t make any trouble!”

“Okay”, she whispered wetly. “Yeah, okay!”

“So?”

“Mum’s coming home around five, Dad’s coming later, seven… ish…?”

He could hear that she was trying to please him, now. A quick, humourless smile flickered over his lips, but since he was still standing behind her, she couldn’t see that.

“There’s some money in Dad’s desk upstairs, and I have some, too-“

“I don’t need your money. Don’t try to bargain with me. Just keep silent.”

She nodded again. Regulus was looking at the garishly decorated clock that hung over the kitchen door and frowned. He had about two hours before the mother came home. He sat down again, put the knife back on the table next to the bowl and stared into nothing.

He would get to London, no problem. But where to go from there? Maybe he should go to Spinner’s End, rather than Grimmauld Place, but both places had their risks. Normally there wouldn’t be a question, but there was something wrong with Grimmauld Place, or he could have apparated there directly. Regulus put both hands to his face. He was still exhausted, although far too wired to even think about sleeping. And Merlin, he had no idea about Spinner’s End.

Then something occurred to him.

He met the eyes of the girl for the first time. Her face was a grimace of naked terror, she was crying and there was snot running down from her nose. She didn’t even try to sniffle, keeping as silent as she could.

“Do you know what a wizard is?” He watched her sharply, but there wasn’t any new fear, just a little bit of confusion.

“Yes…?”

“Are they real?”

“Uhm… no?”

So the Dark Lord hadn’t reached that part of his grand plan yet. Regulus nodded and asked:  
“Do you have any means to transport me to London?”

She bit her lip and lost her voice for a second, before she could answer:  
“I could give you money, and then you could take the train…”

“No.”

“I don’t… there aren’t any airports around here…”

“Do you have a car?”

“No.” She shrank away from his dark look and stammered: “My parents do, though, one each, but…”

“Okay. We’re going to wait for your mother, then, and you’re going to take me to London.”

She sobbed openly now and begged: “Oh please don’t do anything to her! Can’t you just take the money? I won’t tell anyone!”

“Shut up.” Regulus closed his eyes and weighed options in his mind. There weren’t a great many.  
White hot iron claws pulled at his heart as he thought of Spinner’s End. But he couldn’t risk it. He just couldn’t. He had to do this alone. He had to find a way to get home, find out if Kreacher had managed to destroy the Horcrux, find out if there were any others by now, and then kill the Dark Lord, before he threw the whole world into chaos and despair.

And Regulus was bone deep tired.


	2. A hundred miles an hour

The drive to London took three bloody hours, but Regulus managed not to fall asleep. The muggle mother drove, while Regulus had her daughter on the backseat bench, knife at her throat. There had been one unpleasant moment when the foolish woman had tried to pull something out of her purse, but a little nick in her daughter's clammy skin had settled that argument.

They were just outside London when something rang in her purse, and the woman glanced into the rear mirror. Regulus met her glance and shook his head slightly. He had no idea what exactly it was she wanted to do, but he knew it didn’t matter anyway. 

The girl was exhausted by now, sitting completely rigid at his side. He had tried not to touch her too much, just a hand on her arm to guide her to the car, and another on her neck when he had to threaten her further. 

While the mother steered them towards Trafalgar Square, Regulus glanced at the girl who immediately pretended not to have watched him.

Nobody had said a word since they had left their little village behind.

“You’ll be fine”, he rasped. “Don’t worry, you’re nearly done.”

The girl curled forward a bit and whispered:

“Please don’t kill us!”

Regulus let one corner of his mouth twitch upwards a bit.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The mother cleared her throat, but didn’t speak, so Regulus prompted her:

“What is it.”

“Just… don’t be mad, now, but, you know, if you’re running from the law, it’s generally better to hand yourself in, because…” She checked the rear mirror, her eyes a curious mix of fear and determination. Regulus hadn’t reacted visibly, so she continued: “You look so young, and if it’s drugs, they will actually do their best to help you!”

Regulus blinked at her.  
She cleared her throat and said: “If… if the system failed you, I mean- I’m sure you have a reason to be so afr-… angry, but running away never helps. Maybe you don’t actually need to run, or fight, or… You know, nobody can fix everything by themselves. Maybe if we can just find you some people who you can trust to help you-“

Regulus’ snort shut her up.  
He knew more about the world than a couple of muggles. They had no idea of the dangers lurking all around them, of the powers shaping their very world. He wasn’t running from danger, he was running towards it, because some fights were worth anything. Even if you had nobody to trust to fight at your side. Especially when the powers that be had failed humanity.

The girl slowly lifted a hand, as if to reach out to him. He slapped it away and said to the mother:  
“Stop at that bus stop over there.”

The moment the car had slowed down enough, Regulus jumped out and vanished in the crowd. It was far too cold for just a shirt, but his robe was still soaked through and filthy in the plastic bag in his hand, so it would have to do until he got his hands on a wand. His trousers were held up by the belt, which was just adjustable enough for Regulus skinny form, and the shoes were an awkward fit, too. But no muggle seemed to notice, so he just made haste towards the entrance of Knockturn Alley.

The bloody shirt was white, of course, so he had to be very careful not to be noticed in his stupid muggle outfit. But at least he could enter a wizarding part of London without a wand, here.

It wasn’t quite late enough yet, so Regulus hid behind the Mad Hare pub, sat down on the dirty, cold stone next to the rubbish, and waited.

\-------------

By the time Knockturn Alley was fully alive at last, Regulus had developed a nasty little cough and decided that he couldn’t ignore mirrors anymore. His hand was rubbing the open wound on his shoulder, where he had been bitten by… Regulus took a deep breath and stared at his swollen wrist.

Bitten by an Inferus. 

He should be undead himself right now – or just dead if the Dark Lord had really cancelled the spell. He tried to move his wrist, ironically very glad that he had hurt it in his fall after the failed apparition. His body reacted like any normal body would. He was hungry, he’d had to piss at one point, and if he fell on his wrist, it ached and swelled.

Why would the Dark Lord cancel the Inferus curse though.  
Every time Regulus tried to remember anything about what happened after Kreacher’s face had disappeared behind a wall of brackish water, while slimy hands pulled Regulus under, his mind just shied away.

Had the Dark Lord visited the cave? His gag reflex reacted again, but he tried hard to think about it. It was like fighting an obliviation, only worse, because his magic didn’t help at all.  
Had there been fire above the water, once?

Regulus pulled his sleeve up a little further and stared at the Dark Mark. It seemed very... faded, didn’t it? Not quite as jet black as he remembered...

The next shaky breath he drew ended in a painful coughing fit, so he stood up at last, his legs shaky.  
He left the robe behind and entered the dark pub through the backdoor. Nothing had changed in here, he was glad to say. The light was low enough, the music loud enough, the place packed enough that he was nearly invisible. The sticky warmth helped a lot, too, although it woke up the parts of his body, which, upon noticing just how much he had cooled out, shivered violently again. The headache bloomed to new dimensions, too, and he was so tired.

But he managed to find what he was searching for. A drunk bloke with the wand sticking out of his pocket, no nasty little anti-theft hexes and a dark corner nearby, out of which the pale hand nicking it wasn’t noticed by anyone.

Lumpy little thing it was, this wand, but it hummed in something like confusion, and the warming charm Regulus tried once he was outside of the pub was working just fine. He cleaned and dried out his robe, repeating his mediocre cleaning charm until he was afraid of harming the high-quality cloth, and then he finally, finally put it on again. It hugged his shoulders, warming him instantly, grounding him with its weight and hiding him in black.

He stood near the rubbish for a moment longer, twirling the wand in his fingers. Try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself that he was strong enough for an Imperius, so he went back into the muggle streets, stole some money, bought some food and purchased a night in a muggle hotel, where it took nearly half an hour to get all the charms and hexes in place.

He ate mechanically, his head already precariously heavy, then he pulled the robe tighter, crawled under the covers and slept at last.

\---------

Somebody hammered on the room’s door.  
“Police, open up!”

Muggle aurors. Regulus blinked slowly. His head was throbbing, swallowing hurt like a bitch, and his whole body felt heavy as lead. All around him, his warning charms were flashing and ringing.

He sat up, grabbed his little plastic bag with the water, sweet bread and apples, and apparated, right as the muggles started to kick in the door.

He landed on the other side of the Grimmauld Place square and took out the plastic water bottle to drink a little. 

So the girl and the mother had alarmed the muggle aurors, good for them. Regulus would have to confund his way through muggle London, though, which was a bore.

But not his biggest problem. He took out some of the bread and started to munch on it, staring at the two houses his home should have been in the middle of.

The Black House was gone.

Swallowing still hurt, but he needed sustenance. He leaned on the wall of the small alley on the other side of the square and tried to estimate how much sleep he’d had. Enough to think clearly again, at least.

The Blacks had always liked to lure people into traps. Hiding, especially hiding a whole house, was completely out of character. Things had to have gone spectacularly wrong since Regulus had left. And if his mother had really tried to hide from the Dark Lord, the only thing that would work and have this effect, was a Fidelius.

Who on earth would assist a Black in a Fidelius charm, though. Maybe others had had similar needs? An exchange, perhaps? Lucius hiding Grimmauld Place, Bella hiding Malfoy Manor? Maybe.

Regulus stopped chewing when suddenly, between one blink and the next, a man walked down the street, obviously just having come out of the non-existent gap between Grimmauld Place numbers 11 and 13.

He wore a black coat and black trousers, but what he put away into his left sleeve had looked suspiciously like a wand. Tousled black hair and glasses rang a faint bell, but that guy was no Black, and no other Death Eater or friend of the family that Regulus knew.

He threw away the plastic back and followed him. The bloke was in no hurry, went to a little shop to buy a few things, and then apparently lost them in a short, dark alley he used as a shortcut. Regulus supposed he had banished them to wherever he lived.

Regulus kept his distance, so he was utterly taken aback, when he rounded a corner after him and nearly ran straight into the bloke.

He was about double Regulus’ age, with sharp-eyed, and with deep lines around his mouth.  
The guy had obviously waited for him, wand out, but while Regulus was still stumbling back, he could see the wide green gaze change from utter indignation to disbelieving shock.

The man snarled in sudden rage:  
“Stupefy!”

Regulus just barely dodged that, stumbling back around the corner. The guy was immediately behind him:  
“Confringo!”

Well that was a clear signal that he meant business.  
Regulus was still getting his bearing and his wand out, so he didn’t manage to block that one either, just dodge it.  
The wall behind him exploded in bricks and plaster, hitting Regulus’ side.

The guy was still swishing his wand for an even harder spell, when Regulus tried:  
“Expelliarmus!”

It was blocked as if the guy was swatting away a fly. Regulus’ heart was beating so fast he had trouble breathing.  
He didn’t manage to dodge the next blasting spell completely: It grazed him, throwing him off his feet and against a large, metal rubbish container.

Regulus didn’t even have time to react, the guy already had fired off the next spell, summoning him, but in a slanted way that would have thrown Regulus against another wall, head-first this time. However, the momentum was enough for Regulus to apparate away.

He landed in a forceful slide along the wet grass of some field, somewhere in Britain, which was decidedly not his bedroom.  
He was gasping for breath, crying out at the suddenly now registering pain.

While he hadn’t been in much of a rush to get up, he heard the unmistakable pop of an apparition behind himself. He whisked around, low on the ground, which was an unintentional dodge against the unspoken stunner, which the furious wizard on Regulus’ tail had instantly thrown.

There was no chance in hell for Regulus to win this duel. He’d prevailed this far on pure luck. And the guy was incredibly motivated for some reason.

Regulus took the stinging hex to his chest, gasping out his own wide-spread summoning spell, which brought the man close enough to grab and side-along with.

Regulus hated using this trick right now, but it was the only ace left up his sleeve.

They appeared over the Hogwarts lake, about 15 feet above the water. Regulus kicked away from the guy and used the momentum of the drop to apparate to a different lake, the one close to Malfoy Manor.

It was the only reliable method of shaking someone off who was adept enough at apparating to follow Regulus. The only thing blocking apparition traces: Water. Especially water full of magic. And the positioning in free-fall helped too, of course. The other guy would have needed to be able to fly unassisted to counter this strategy, and of all the wizards Regulus knew of, only the Dark Lord had ever truly learned that feat.

Regulus’ relief was short-lived, about a second long, then he hit the surface, and the lake water crashed closed above him.  
Instead of doing anything sensible - now that the momentum of the initial drop was broken, he could apparate safely to a hard surface again - Regulus screamed.  
He could feel all the air leave his lung, his coat pull him down, then, when he stupidly tried to inhale underwater, panic took over completely.

The only thing saving his life was his oldest magical reflex. Apparating back home.

Regulus landed near a river, on a country road, which he only found out when he was finally able to breathe and move again. He was shaking and dry heaving, desperately trying to get himself under control again.  
He was cooled out through and through by then, again, and he knew he’d catch his death if he didn’t do something about that, and quickly.  
And Regulus wasn’t good with the sharp pain that came from taking a beating. The wetness, the icy cold, the pain, they all conspired to fire horrible signals through his brain.

It took some time until he realized he was still clinging to his wand.  
Chattering teeth and the coughing made his spellwork even worse than usual, but after dozens of tries, his mind stubbornly clinging to the task at hand, he managed to dry himself, warm himself and thereby, calm himself.

Instead of standing up, though, he just breathed, redoing the warming charm from time to time, until finally his brain restarted.  
The man had been familiar, but not overly so.

Not a Death Eater. Not a friend of the family. Hogwarts, maybe? Regulus closed his eyes. One of Sirius’ friends, the traitor pureblood Potter’s family? Probably.  
Quite a significant set of scars on that face, though.

Sitting up already hurt. Standing up was worse.

He had to get his hands on some pepper-up at least. Better would be high quality flu-be-gone, at this stage, and even hot tea would help some. And he needed to take an inventory of all the bruising that was slowly spreading - if it, hopefully, was just bruising.  
His chest hurt again at the thought of Spinner’s End. But he couldn’t be sure, could never be sure of anything.

Regulus slowly stood up. His legs were shaking badly, and the headache was hammering between his eyes. Each breath was laboured and sounded far too wet. Regulus stared at his dirty hands. 

Maybe Hogwarts.  
If he turned himself in to Dumbledore, he’d probably end up in Azkaban, which was not high on his list of places to be, but at least Dumbledore would know what to do with his information.  
At least He would fall.

Regulus lifted a shaking hand to his feverish brow. If Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts at all. Or even alive. He just didn’t have enough information. The muggles knew nothing, that was something, yes. But he really needed to find out some things before he decided anything.

So he apparated back to London, close to Diagon Alley.

The apparition left him so dizzy that he stumbled against a rough wall and had to gasp for air until the world stopped spinning. He had been far too close to splinching himself this time.  
The wand was humming energetically in his hand as he concentrated hard on disillusioning himself. Then he slowly, painfully walked into Diagon Alley.

The first thing he noticed was the way people didn’t huddle in groups, didn’t cower or rush around. They were walking freely, laughing and talking, children running around with just some cursory supervision. Fortescue’s was open and attracting a long line of customers.

Regulus kept to the sides, his gaze darting to the darker corners, and there he found the posters. Warnings and lists of wanted criminals. He walked closer to one and checked the names and pictures. Grimsberry. Kropotlov. Rabastan! Regulus stared at the sunken, clearly aged faces of former comrades.  
Death Eaters, wanted for war crimes, following Tom Riddle, and so many other charges that the line of words ran on and on without once coming full loop while Regulus watched.

He could hear the children screaming and laughing behind him, chic witches’ boots clattering on the cobblestone, and Fortescue’s ice machine humming. He could smell the coming snow in the air and the owls and cats from the shop nearby. His head was still killing him, and he was so hungry he wasn’t even feeling it anymore.

The war was over.

Regulus stared at the bottom of the faded poster.

Issued by the Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger, October 2023.


	3. Palace without any power

The war was over.   
Regulus had lost over thirty years.   
They weren’t even searching for Lucius or Severus, Bellatrix or Dietzgen. Apparently those posed no threat anymore.  
The Death Eater robe grew heavier on his shoulders. It was true, his faded Mark hadn’t so much as twinged once. And the poster said: Wanted for following Tom Riddle. They didn’t even call him Lord Voldemort, but his given name, like a common criminal.

Regulus’ legs buckled under him. His hand found the wall in front of him, and he threw the hood over his head while sinking to the ground. It was a reasonably dark corner, and he was still disillusioned. He cradled his legs to his chest, his wand still in hand, and watched the witches and wizards pass him by. 

People looked so happy. So free and unburdened by anything.  
How in Merlin’s name had anyone been able to defeat the Dark Lord so utterly? So easily, even? After all, London was still standing.

After a while, a wizard threw a Daily Prophet into the rubbish on the other side of the alley, and Regulus summoned it to himself. It was 2024, actually.  
Regulus stared at the number for a long moment.

On the front page, the apparently old news of an upcoming wedding anniversary was warmed up. Regulus frowned at the two faces grinning into the camera. Some pretty redhead next to the guy who’d attacked him on sight. The guy who had walked out of the hidden Grimmauld Place. Harry Potter.  
The name didn’t ring any bell, but then, he would have been a child when Regulus…  
But the article soon cleared up the fame and power of the man.

Vanquisher of Tom Riddle.

“Merlin”, Regulus whispered and let the paper fall beside him, putting his brow on his knee. His lungs were still on fire, and he was cooling out rapidly again. He mumbled a warming charm and took up the newspaper again.  
So he had killed the Dark Lord. He was a formidable fighter, sure. But not of the Dark Lord’s calibre.

And there was no chance in hell that this Potter guy could have known about the Horcrux. Regulus searched the rest of the paper. 

There was a piece about the planned monument for Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts, and Regulus made a face.  
Great. Dumbledore was dead. There went that option.

There was an update from the Department of Law Enforcement on page three though, which read upbeat and calm, but in essence, was pretty much saying that no progress had been made on the search for Rabastan Lestrange and his daughter, enemies of the ministry.

Regulus made a face again, harder. He still had no idea why Bella had ever fancied that oaf. Then he frowned. Bella wasn’t mentioned.

There was something about the Head of Magical Law Enforcement - Harry Potter - assisting the Department of Mysteries in cancelling the Inferus curse all over Britain.  
He had waved a wand.

Regulus took a deep breath. So he was that powerful, was he, in magic and in politics. He could feel his need to contact the bloke grow. But even if the paper made him out to be a white warlock in shining armour, he was still just a wizard. And Regulus had learned this one important lesson: He would never bet everything on the genius of some powerful visionary again.

Yes, Regulus needed to contact him and talk to him about the Horcrux. And about Grimmauld Place if he could, somehow… but he couldn’t just walk up to him, especially now that he’d already attacked him once.

Near the back of the paper was a long list of ongoing trials. Regulus skimmed for names he knew and found quite a lot. Death Eaters, it seemed, had been given fair trials, and only a few of those were still going on.   
Regulus didn’t believe a word of it, of course. 

He let the paper fall to his side and shakily stood up again. He tried to take a deep breath, which only resulted in a painful coughing fit. Since he really couldn’t risk apparating again, Regulus decided to walk to Grimmauld Place.

The sun was already setting when he reached the square. He stood in front of the little park, his hood up, and glanced to where Grimmauld Place should have been. Then he hissed:

“Kreacher!”

A small pop, then his elf stood in front of him, wide-eyed and mangy-eared. His eyes grew impossibly large, then he nearly choked on a sob and threw himself at Regulus’ legs.

“Maaaaster!”

“Yes”, Regulus whispered and patted Kreacher’s head, thanking the fates for this small mercy, that Kreacher was still alive. “Can you get me to Malfoy Manor, Kreacher?”

Kreacher stared up to him, his ears slowly drooping. Regulus smiled tightly.  
“Yes, yes, I would like you to come with me, too.”

Kreacher’s smile was very ugly, but very happy. He took Regulus’ hand, and with the curious lurch of house elf apparition, they switched from the side of the road to the foyer of Malfoy Manor.

Regulus hissed a curse and pulled Kreacher to one side, listening avidly.

“I meant to the main gate, Kreacher! Not bloody inside of the place!”

Kreacher curled into himself a bit and whispered back:

“But Malfoy’s are family! Noble wizards! And Master Regulus is hurt!”

“Is anybody home?”

Kreacher inclined his head, one of his droopy ears perking up for a moment. “No, Master!”

Regulus nodded and straightened up from his instinctive crouch.  
“Alright… find me some flu-be-gone, yeah? And pepper-up, too. I’m going to…” Regulus blinked to the far end of the foyer. His plan had been to talk to Narcissa, but now another urge won priority. “… the library.”

Kreacher nodded happily and vanished. Regulus made his way to the library.

Some furniture was missing, other pieces were new. Most of the paintings had been exchanged, that was most notable.  
But Malfoy Manor had a lived-in feeling that Regulus could not remember from the past.

He could feel the wards of the house. He let his fingertips caress the wall he walked along. Yes, the house felt healed, but also violated. It accepted him as family, if distant, but there had been major disturbances. He frowned a little and walked even slower.

A tall, very good-looking woman’s portrait walked from painting to painting, watching him, matching his stride.

“That”, she said in a soft voice, “is a death eater cloak.”

“It’s a greatcoat, thank you very much.”

“A death eater’s greatcoat.”

Auror violations would surely feel lighter than this. This felt dark, nearly slimy, crawling under his skin. He’d been here. The Dark Lord had been in this house, and for a while.

Regulus could feel the hair of his neck rising. He took a shuddering breath and walked briskly to the library. 

“I’m family”, he said. “Leave me alone.”

“I don’t recognize you.”

“Long story. But the house recognizes me, doesn’t it.”

“It does… I’ll go and tell Draco you’re here, nonetheless.”

Regulus stopped at the last painting before the library.

“Not: Lucius?”

“No.” She smiled a perfectly trained polite goodbye and left.

Regulus decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. First of all, he needed information.

There were tons of books missing in the bookcases, and a lot of garishly bright new ones. But at the far end of the upper gallery was still a large, gnarled tapestry, showing the Malfoy Family Tree.

Toujours Supreme, indeed. Regulus could feel his legs growing heavier. He could see the fact that there were dates of death before he could read them.

Orion Black, died 1979, yes. Uncle Cygnus, same year. Aunt Lucretia, 1992. The Rosiers. Several on the Malfoy side.  
Narcissa and Lucius had a son - Draco, that explained that. Merlin, the kid even had a kid of his own by now, and a dead wife to boot. 

His own name had a longer line of dates.  
Regulus Black. 1961-1979, 2024-.

Regulus stared at it for a long moment. He could hear Kreacher setting the table on the lower level of the library.

He had been dead. For thirty-five years. Actually, magically recognizably… dead.

Regulus moved his throbbing wrist a little. Then he scratched the scabbing at one of his grazes open, smeared the fresh blood against the burnt part of the tapestry next to his name, lifted his stolen wand and touched its tip to the same area.   
One deep breath.   
Two.

Then he whispered the spell that would make Sirius’ name visible again.

Sirius Black. 1959-1996.

He could hear his own croaked denial as if from afar. He gasped for breath and put his hand to the tapestry. Salazar, he hadn’t even liked the poncy, useless arse.  
His eyes stung as the first tears dropped from his chin.

“Bloody hell, Sirius…”

Thirty-seven years old. No children.

Regulus put his ice-cold hand to his brow and tried to swallow, his throat too sore.   
Sirius was dead. Long dead even.

Kreacher politely cleared his throat behind him.  
“Master, tea is served!”

He was done running, then. Even if the Dark Lord had saved himself with a Horcrux, it wasn’t Regulus’ problem anymore. Wizardom had their shiny hero Harry Potter for that.  
And Sirius was dead.

Regulus walked downstairs again, slowly, letting himself think the unthinkable, again. If he had nothing to lose, he could risk anything. He could, actually, just send Kreacher with a note to the Potter bloke.

He sat down at the table and downed the flu-be-gone first. His head immediately cleared, as did his nose, and breathing became so much easier. Then the pepper-up.

He could go to Spinner’s End.

The flu-be-gone left a nasty aftertaste, so he was glad for the teacakes Kreacher had served. And a cup of tea always helped, regardless of the situation. He stirred in some milk and stared at the fine Malfoy china.

Thirty-five years. Was there any point in even trying? Regulus downed his too hot tea and grimaced. Then he looked at Kreacher and said with a still rusty voice:

“Thank you, that was lovely. Who’s living in…”

Regulus blinked and frowned. He couldn’t say the address. Alright then.  
“… in the…”

No, he also couldn’t describe it.  
“If this Harry Potter person living in…”  
Of for fuck’s sake. He glared at Kreacher, who nodded frantically.

“Yes, Master, yes, in your… their… they are filthy mudbloods and blood traitors!”

Kreacher made a hissing noise and attempted to smash his head against the table, but Regulus neatly caught his ears and stopped him.

“Don’t. I understand. Fidelius does that, doesn’t it. Listen, Kreacher, you have to tell Harry Potter about the locket.”

Kreacher’s eyes grew large and he tried to free his ears to really hurt himself this time.

“Stop it! I know you couldn’t have destroyed it! It’s alright, I’m not mad!”

Kreacher wailed, and Regulus cursed silently.

“Bloody hell, what’s wrong!”

“Kreacher already told Master Harry! Oh, he shouldn’t have, without permission, but he did, oh!”

“That’s quite alright!”  
Regulus stood up, bowing forward to avoid pulling on the ears in his hands too hard.  
“That’s great, actually! What did he do?”

Kreacher gazed up at him and said, hesitatingly:  
“Master Harry destroyed the evil locket.”

Regulus stared at him, his heart giving a sickeningly excited lurch. Merlin, the man had to be insanely powerful.

“It’s destroyed.”

Kreacher nodded as much as he could, his ears still in custody.

Regulus smiled slowly.  
“Well, I never. Great! Does he know what it was?”

Kreacher nodded again.  
“A trapped piece of evil soul.”

Regulus couldn’t have been more pleased with the situation. He let Kreacher go and said:  
“Very well done, Kreacher!” Then he furrowed his brow. “Who do you serve, now?”

Kreacher’s ears drooped as he said: “The Potter family. Filthy mudbloods!”

Regulus smiled at him.  
“But you won’t tell them about me, will you.”

Kreacher shook his head, eagerly waiting for more orders. Regulus patted his head.

“You’ve been very, very good. Could you bring me to Spinner’s End, please?”

They shared a smile, then Kreacher took Regulus’ hand and they lurched through space again.

This time they stood before the door of the place. Regulus didn’t look at Kreacher and said:  
“Thank you. Go home and take care, yeah?”

Kreacher, quite insolently, hugged Regulus’ legs again, then he vanished.

Regulus stood in the cool evening air and took it all in. The miniscule garden in the flower boxes was completely dead, which already was information enough. The way the blinds were drawn and had faded from the rare sunlight was another sign. But most importantly: The house wasn’t hidden, and the security spells had faded out of existence, too.

He drew his shoulders back and took a deep breath. He’d known it was possible, even likely. He would have to get used to the thought.  
Severus was dead, too.

His legs felt heavy as lead again as he walked inside. At least it was a house, and one nobody seemed to care about. Inside, the gloomy near-darkness failed to hide the decay. It smelled of old dust, books and broth, curiously. 

The healing draught was stored neatly in the cupboard in the hallway to the kitchen, just like always. Severus’ sharp handwriting gave the best-before date as several years ago. But when Regulus uncorked it, the little puff of purple mist and the strong chemical smell was exactly right.  
Severus had been brilliant, hadn’t he.

Regulus downed it, swallowing a new bout of tears with it.

Then he slowly made his way to the master bedroom, where a spare death eater’s robe, thrown carelessly over a chair, made him stop and stare.

Then he threw a small, pretty much useless cleaning spell at the bed, took off his boots, and fell into the cushions, falling asleep in the next moment.


	4. Take it as it comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Regulus’ heart sunk and the panic grew full-fledged. He’d never been this utterly caught. Potter’s face came into focus right before his eyes. He stared at him and said:_   
>  _“Whoever the fuck you are, you have some nerve using that face.”_

He woke up hungry and alarmed. His hand tightened its hold on the stolen wand and he listened with bated breath.

Yes, voices downstairs.

He was reasonably well rested, confident he could disapparate whenever he chose to, so instead of doing that, he rolled off the bed as slowly and soundlessly as possible.

He still knew which parts of the upper floors were creaking, so he could move without any problems to the small upstairs landing. He could make out two different male voices, and by the sound of it, both men were wearing a very specific type of heavy boots.

Aurors or Death Eaters, then. Well. Ex-Death-Eaters now, he supposed.

One of them walked through the downstairs hall to the kitchen, passing right under Regulus.

“We really need to find him though”, he said.

The other guy followed him, whining. That guy had a pronounced limb.

“But why! I mean, really, Harry, we already have one huge wizardhunt on our hands - with much better reason than a bloke’s looks and fashion choices. This is complete overkill.”

Harry. Must be Potter then. 

Something rattled.  
“The tea’s still good.”

“You really lost it. You’re making tea?!”

Harry Potter, making tea. Regulus lifted an eyebrow at the empty air.  
Since they didn’t shut the kitchen door, he could still understand every word.  
He needed to stay and listen some more. Merlin, if the knot in his belly was right, they were talking about him.

He could hear a chair scraping and a deep sigh.

“Harry… you’re getting obsessed again. I know the situation’s getting to you, but you know, you have a team. A whole department even. We’re not fighting alone, this time. Really, just take Gin for a weekend in Tokalulu, your squad and the Order will take care of the pseudo-Black, and you’ll feel better.”

Regulus stared at the Black ring at his finger and shivered.  
They must have searched the house with one of the spells the ring blocked. A piece of blind luck, that.

He didn’t want to tip them off, so he decided to creep back into one of the rooms before apparating.

“It’s nothing to do with me and Ginny. We’re fine, Ron, I promise. It’s really just me. I don’t know… I thought one day I’d feel better, you know, in a world without Voldemort, that everything would get back to normal… and for a while there… but then...”

“Harry. It wasn’t your fault. We did everything right - we really did - and sometimes shit just happens.”

“I should have let Albus kill her.”

The conversation pause was very fraught. Regulus hesitated without meaning to. Silence reigned downstairs.

Then, suddenly, Potter’s voice, louder and harsher than before:

“Petrificus totalus!”

It went right through the floor below Regulus, and hit him with enough power to make his whole body jump up before he crashed onto the faded carpet.

Regulus’ mind whirled frantically.

“What? Harry, what in Merlin’s name…”

He could hear two pairs of heavy boots hammering up the stairs. Then he could see one pair of them stop next to his bleeding nose.

“I knew it”, Potter whispered. “I knew he’d come here!”

“But, but, we checked!”

Potter’s boot turned Regulus’ locked body on his back, and he could see both of the men out of the corners of his unmovable eyes.

Potter was grinning widely. The bloke he’d called Ron had bright red hair and an open mouth. Both clad in auror robes and the wands pointing at Regulus.

Then something silvery appeared and Potter told it to report Black found and apprehended.

Regulus’ heart sunk and the panic grew full-fledged. He’d never been this utterly caught. Potter’s face came into focus right before his eyes. He stared at him and said:  
“Whoever the fuck you are, you have some nerve using that face.”

Regulus could see something bad in those green eyes, something seriously Dark. He could have put that on his rising panic, but he was an expert in only a few things, Darkness in powerful wizards being one of them, and Harry Potter’s eyes had it in spades.

\--------

By the time they had reached the auror headquarter, Regulus had it all figured out. He’d known the Dark Lord wasn’t that easy to kill, and oh, such a smart, smart evil man. So of course Potter couldn’t have done the deed. Instead, the Dark Lord had everyone believe that to be the case, and in reality, he was the one who controlled Potter with what had to be the most subtle Imperius ever uttered.

It didn’t fit the Dark Lord’s need for adoration, but maybe even he had learned something in all that time.

They undid the bodylock even before they arrived, had him in magic shackles and taken his wand, so he had the chance to watch Potter, and how people reacted to him.

He was well liked, which was surprising. Regulus had expected adoration, if not fear, but the other aurors they met on their way to the interrogation vaults were smiling and joking and calling him Harry.

Regulus wasn’t noticed much, as if it was completely normal to lead someone in an outdated Death Eaters’ greatcoat through the hallways.

He was submitted to a few tests, none of which he recognized, and there were quite a few people deliberating over their results, milling around him in the small cell a few times. They were careful though not to let him glimpse any of their findings.

When he was finally sat down on a hard wooden bench, Potter wasn’t with them anymore, probably watching via monitoring spells nearby. The red-haired Ron was, though, and a tall man with a pointy nose and mudblood grey-brown hair.

Ron sat down on the other side of the wooden table, which had the usual oh so suspicious dark brown stains. The Good Auror, then. Regulus tossed some stray hair back and watched him, as expressionless as he could.

“So”, Ron began, putting a thick file on the table and skimming through it.  
Nervous, was he?  
“You are impersonating Regulus Arcturus Black, born 1961. Why.”

Regulus took a deep breath and asked:  
“What’s wrong with Harry?”

“That’s Mr. Potter to you, you piece of shit!” was the immediate response of Mr. Bad Auror.

“Are you sure he’s not under Imperius?”

Ron looked troubled, while the Bad Auror hissed something like how nobody would be powerful enough to do something like that to the Wonderful Mr. Potter.

“Ron, is it? Who checked him for Dark spells? They did check him, right? When was the last time he was checked?”

The Bad One wanted to start a new tirade, putting both his hands onto the table, but Ron just closed the file with more authority than Regulus had expected him to have.

“It’s Mr. Weasley to you. And we are not here to discuss Mr. Potter. Who are you.”

“Regulus Arcturus Black, born 1961.”

The Bad One said:  
“Then you are wanted for conspiring with Tom Riddle, complicity in the case of the murder of the muggle family Richardson of Twopeaks, Yorkshire, complicity in the case of-“

“I do think I served my time.”

Both aurors stared at him. Regulus lifted a shoulder and tossed his hair back again.

“I never killed any muggles, and if I helped to get some of them killed, it wasn’t to my knowledge, and I am truly sorry they came to harm. I did fall under the Dark Lord’s spell – and it wasn’t Imperius, yes. But I also spent thirty-five years in a cave without light, not alive, but not dead enough not to know I was surrounded by other decaying undeads. I do think any sane court would see that as justice served.”

Weasley’s gaze was surprisingly calm and strong, and he didn’t disagree. The Bad One went at it again, though.

“Of course you killed muggles! You took the mark! In those years there were initiation rites in which you had to kill one of them, personally!”

Regulus shrugged.  
“I didn’t.”

Weasley’s lips went thin.  
The other auror straightened up again and sneered.  
“I doubt you can say that with a straight face under Veritaserum.”

Regulus’ heart sped up again.  
“Try me, then. But the moment I will go free – and we all know I will – I will want my house back.” The last was said to Weasley again, who lifted both brows at that.

“Your house.”

“Yes. The one of which I can’t even say the address.” And apparently he also couldn’t say why.

Weasley nodded slowly. Then he leaned back and asked:  
“Why were you in a cave, surrounded by inferi?”

Regulus smiled a little. “I think that should be classified information.”

Weasley turned to the Bad Auror and nodded. This one gesture contained the common respect for a competent underling and dismissal. Mr. Bad Auror nodded firmly back and left.

Regulus gauged the man anew. Authority then, not just from being friends with someone powerful, but of his own merits and position. His auror uniform didn’t show his rank - they had kept that lesson from the seventies, then.  
He was probably about forty years old, but aged by experiences. The man had faced harsh reality. Fought a war, hadn’t he. Was still fighting one, maybe.

His brown eyes were guarded, sharp and surprisingly open, as he looked at Regulus, prompting him to speak.

Regulus said:  
“I was there to find and destroy a bit of seriously dark magic the Dark Lord had created. Things went wrong, I ended up trapped.”

Weasley nodded.  
“The horcrux. And we call him Tom Riddle, not by a honorific.” The ghost of an impish smile flickered over the man’s lips.

The relief that trickled over Regulus’ back was icy cold. He said in a lower voice:  
“Kreacher said Potter destroyed it. Are you… are you sure?”

Weasley winced.  
“I carried the bloody thing around while we were trying to figure out how to do that, so yes, I’m very bloody sure.”

Regulus leaned forward to implore him:  
“There might be more!”

“There were. We destroyed them as well.”

Regulus blinked.

“I assure you, Mr. Black, Tom Riddle is quite dead.”

Regulus nodded slowly, leaning back again.  
“How am I alive?”

“We cancelled the Inferus curse all over Britain, to help a young witch who’d been recently bitten, but not yet turned. There must have been a stasis spell over the cave you were in, to keep the inferi there… fresh. That might have kept you from turning completely as well, keeping you on the brink of the half-death of the curse, but never letting you cross the threshold. That whole time.”

Weasley was watching him closely as he continued: “We know from Kreacher that you were bitten. The other inferi in the cave had been turned before being put under the stasis spell, so they simply turned into unanimated corpses.”

Regulus stared at Weasley, nodding slowly. He could hear the eternal swish and swell of the ocean close by, and his nose was clogged with that sour-sweet stench again.

After a long moment, Weasley nodded.  
“Kreacher can confirm your story officially. Then a court will decide. By the way, please don’t break into private property anymore, and don’t use the services of other people’s house elves, hmm?”

Regulus blinked. That was the mildest slap on the wrist he’d ever received. And the aurors took house elves attesting as witnesses serious now?

Weasley waited for his bemused nod, then continued:  
“If you’re willing to testify against a few of your former comrades, submit to the standard Death Eater observation spells, and give us any intel you might have on safe houses and hide-outs, I’m willing to let you go until your trial.”

\---------

Nobody had mentioned a shackle. 

Regulus had talked for hours, telling them everything he could think of that might be of any relevance at all, ate the food they gave him, downed the potions put in front of him.  
He received a piece of paper undoing his death certificate, which apparently had been based on some poor mutilated muggle’s body, and a shackle.

The shackle was iron, but thin, contained an interconnected network of observation, tracking and surveillance spells, had no lock, and was unbreakable, untransformable, and a general nuisance.

Spells and potions Regulus could work with, knew ways to undo most effects. But artifacts were tricky.

He also received back the deed to Grimmauld Place and all other Black holdings, although there were scarcely any left. Apparently, mother had lost her mind in the end, and Bella had usurped her dealings masterfully.

The vault had been closed, all of its contents merged with the Potter vault, since the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord had inherited everything from Sirius. A travesty which Gringotts was hard at work to untangle.  
Regulus of course didn’t get any insights into Potter’s monetary situation, but he could infer enough. The bloke was loaded, even without the Black money, however little of it there had been left.

Bella’s vault was still open, since Rabastan was still alive and at large. Of course Gringotts would never ever deal with a wanted criminal without notifying the ministry ooh never, cross their shrivelled little hearts! But the vault also wasn’t being released.

Regulus didn’t particularly care. He just wanted his home back.  
However, Potters were indeed currently residing there. Weasley apparently was the secret keeper, explaining that there were goings-on that made added security for Potter’s son necessary. And Grimmauld Place, which had served as a safehouse for the Order of the Phoenix, was still deemed his best bet.

Grimmauld as the safehouse for the Order, amazing. Must have been Sirius’ doing, and well done indeed.

In a grand show of generosity and goodness of heart, Regulus kept them all on as official guests, without even having met them, and assured Weasley that the Fidelius could of course stay in place. Kreacher was an open topic, since having him be his again could possibly endanger Potter Junior.  
Regulus smiled and nodded. First he needed to cozy up to Potter - both of them, whatever it took. And it wasn’t as if Kreacher was in any danger, the little bugger had looked very well indeed. For Kreacher.

So, released he was, and allowed to simply wander out of the ministry, and into and out of Gringotts, so he decided to make a quick stop at Ollivander’s to buy a new wand, the stolen one being confiscated and all.  
He did get dirty looks for his coat, but not more than that.

Ollivander was dead.

The shop had been cleaned up considerably, which Regulus supposed was kind of nice, but then, he felt tired just looking at the clean shelves and the small plaques explaining newly adopted materials. Regulus could spot a lot of basilisk and acromantula material, and different kinds of bone.  
All things old Ollivander would have never allowed in his wandcraft. The man had been a purist.

An ivy and dragon heartstring wand seemed promising at first, but the ebony one with thestral hair felt so much better in his hand. The woman minding the shop tried to counsel Regulus towards the ivy one, and the longer ebony was clearly not convinced that Regulus was the right wizard to bond with, but Regulus was tired, had a headache, and although he hadn’t expected to care much at all, he found himself fiercely determined to win the black wand over.

So ebony and thestral he bought.

This time, when he apparated from Diagon Alley, he finally landed in his own room.  
Which was a disaster zone.  
It had been visibly searched through multiple times, layers of dust and grime under spilled contents of drawers and shelves. Even the mattress had been slashed open.

He needed three tries with his new wand to at least get the bed fixed again. The mattress had been a lumpy mess to begin with, and the last thirty-five years did not help at all. But for now, all Regulus really wanted was to crawl under the duvet and tune out the world for a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cherishing any kudos, and comments keep this fire burning!  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://fanfuchs.tumblr.com/).
> 
> First person to guess correctly what the chapter titles are from gets to place a kink wish I will do my best to fulfill!


End file.
